


Jude Adams Foster and the Pureblood Hufflepuff

by bradleymartin, emmadecody



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Fosters (TV 2013)
Genre: Bisexual Scorpius Malfoy, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-13 09:01:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4515879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bradleymartin/pseuds/bradleymartin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmadecody/pseuds/emmadecody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jude Adams Foster and Connor Stevens attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry. Even though Jude is Sorted into Slytherin and Connor is a Hufflepuff, they manage to become close friends. </p><p>But by fifth year, they can’t even last an entire Potions class without fighting. Jude wants to get over Connor and Scorpius Malfoy wants to get over Rose Weasley, so the two agree to date — and Connor isn’t too happy about it. </p><p>Meanwhile, Mariana is an American Muggle-born who doesn’t much like to follow the rules. Callie, as always, is trying to figure things out before graduation. Hugo Weasley, a rumored Seer, is making ominous predictions. Jude’s other two best friends, Niamh Finnegan-Thomas and Al Potter, try to keep Slytherin from devolving into chaos, but with Jude and Scorpius around, that’s no easy task. </p><p>Rated M for language.</p><p>**This story is on a permanent hiatus due to our sadness at Gavin MacIntosh leaving The Fosters.**</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Prologue**

_Jude_

 

I complained about it a little. We lived in Hogsmeade, so we had to go all the way to London to board the Hogwarts Express, only to take an hours-long ride right back. I could’ve walked from home to the train station in less than ten minutes. Still, I’d known it was coming. Two years ago, Mums forced Brandon and Callie to take the train, and then last year they made Mariana and Jesus do the same thing. “At least for the first year,” Stef had said firmly at least ten times over even the meekest protests from any of us. “It’s part of the experience,” Lena would add, swooping in — as always — to smooth things over, or at least soften them.

This year, only Mariana and I went to King’s Cross. I did because it was my first year so there was no getting out of it, while Mariana acted like seeing her friends a few hours early was somehow life-changing. After several kisses and a few tears that Stef tried hard to cover up, Mariana and I were on the train. It took less than thirty seconds for her to hole up with her friends Tia and Emma and a few of those Potter-Weasleys in a thunderously loud compartment, their laughter echoing even after I was several feet past them. I knew I could join if I wanted to — in fact, if Mariana saw me go past their compartment again, she would all but force me in there, and then force me into having fun — but I was tired of being the annoying little brother. There were five of us only three years apart — but somehow I always felt like a baby.

I slipped into an empty compartment and settled in. That one minute of silence was the most consecutive quiet I’d had all summer — and then someone else opened the door.

He was tall and looked athletic — making me instantly fear more non-stop talk about Quidditch, like I heard from Jesus all the time. His hair was dark blond and his face was friendly and more than a little attractive. “Can I?” he asked, gesturing inside. I nodded, not wanting to be rude. “I’m Connor Stevens,” he said, shoving his trunk in and then plopping down. He looked straight at me with a smile, but then I noticed how stiffly he sat right at the edge of his seat. That threw me off. Maybe he wasn’t as comfortable as looked.

 _Stevens, Stevens_ … A normal name, but I felt like I’d heard it thrown around. “Jude Adams Foster,” I said.

He nodded. “I think I’ve heard of your family. Your mum’s the assistant headmistress, right? And your, er, other mum is a pureblood?”

My eyebrows shot up. “I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Your father is Adam Stevens, isn’t it?” I asked, finally remembering. “Pureblood through and through.” His face turned red, and I took pity on him. “But who cares?” I added. “All that blood stuff, it doesn’t matter. I mean… I’m adopted so all that pureblood, half-blood, and Muggle-born stuff seems even less important.”

Connor leaned back, looking a little more relaxed. “I guess you’re right.” He reached up into his trunk and pulled out a book. “Are all of you adopted?”

“Me, Callie, Mariana, and Jesus were. Stef had Brandon when she was married to Mike Foster,” I explained. Connor nodded at the mention of Mike; I wondered if he had some sort of internal catalogue of all the purebloods. “Mariana and Jesus are Muggle-born — from America. They were on vacation in London with their birth mum when they showed signs of magic and she abandoned them. They were seven.”

“Wow,” Connor said. “So what about you?”

“Our mum died in a potions accident — and our dad was a Muggle so he couldn’t really handle it. So—” I broke off, shrugging. “Callie was ten and I was eight.”

“Pretty recent. Do you — I dunno — are you ever angry about it?” He leaned forward in his seat, looking genuinely interested.

I shrugged. “Sometimes it feels like another lifetime, you know?”

“Yeah.” He paused for a long time and then added, “Yeah, I know how that feels.” It looked like he wasn’t going to continue, but when I raised my eyebrows at him, he added, “My mum died, too — an accident.”

“What kind of accident?”

“No one really knows.”

I thought for a minute, and vaguely I remembered hearing about Adam Stevens’ wife dying under very suspicious circumstances. I would’ve pressed the matter, but there was no polite way to ask someone if their mother was murdered. So I moved a seat closer to him. “I’m sorry,” I said.

He stared straight at me for a minute before moving two seats over until we were right next to each other. I slouched down in my seat, too aware that our shoulders were nearly touching. “Me too,” he said. “Do you think — that maybe we’ll be in the same house?”

I looked up at him. “I guess we’ll find out.”

“Well — what House do you think you’ll be in?”

“All my brothers and sisters are Gryffindors, so I think they’re hoping for the same…” I trailed off. Callie spent a lot of time this summer telling me I would be a Gryffindor for sure — and Mariana sometimes chimed in saying, “in nature versus nurture, nurture usually wins out” — but doubted it. I was pretty sure there was nothing Gryffindor about me. “You?”

He stared at me hard. It looked like he was going to say something, but then he just shrugged. “We’re all Slytherins, generations back.” I stared out the window at the exact same countryside I’d seen on my way down to London. Then a minute later, he said, “I think… I think maybe my dad’ll kill me if I’m not Slytherin.”

“It can’t be that serious,” I said, laughing a little.

He frowned and glanced out the window. I guessed maybe it was. I was turning to look in the other direction when his shoulder bumped against mine. I whirled around to look at him, but he didn’t turn. There was no mistaking it the second time, when he all but leaned against me. My heart started pounding, but just then the food trolley stopped in front of us, and Connor was up and to the door of the compartment before I could even string together a coherent thought. I could tell my face was flushed completely red, and I practically dove back to my old seat, wanting some space between us.

He turned around to the empty seat before spotting me. “Want anything?” he asked, looking a little confused.

“I’ll get it,” I said, standing shakily.

* * *

“Adams Foster, Jude!” Lena called, holding a roll of parchment. I shouldn’t have been surprised when my name was the first called, but I still gave a quick, nervous glance at Connor before stumbling forward to the stool. I shoved the hat on my head, expecting it to say something. Mariana had told me that the hat took ages sometime — that it had taken a full five minutes with her. But all I heard was a faint chuckle in my ear and a whisper: “Of course.” Then, to the Great Hall: “SLYTHERIN!”

Lena dropped her parchment and it rolled several meters until it bumped against the leg of the Hufflepuff table. In the silence I thought I recognized Callie’s gasp, followed by her unmistakable exclamation, “ _Slytherin?_ ” Then the applause finally started, nearly a minute too late. I gingerly hopped off the stool and started walking to the Slytherin table, glancing over at my family. Callie and Mariana looked horrified, Brandon looked mildly surprised, and Jesus looked ready to fight Slytherin to get me back.

“We got an Adams Foster, huh?” a guy said to me, probably a fourth or fifth year.

I tried to smile. I wasn’t shocked or anything — and certainly not _extremely_ shocked, the way Lena looked when a Hufflepuff handed her the roll of parchment back. Then she cleared her throat and started again. I relaxed in my seat, glancing back at the Gryffindor table to see that everyone except Callie had stopped staring at me. I shrugged and looked back at the front, where a girl was running to the Ravenclaw table.

“Backus, Eli!” was the first to go to Gryffindor. Then Jaclyn Bones went to Slytherin, and she sat across from me, looking pleased.

It went on. Sophia Carrow went to Gryffindor, Mason Clarke and Kaylee Denshaw went to Ravenclaw, and then Alexander Edwards was announced Gryffindor.

“Finnegan-Thomas, Niamh!” Lena called. I thought I recognized her from one of those parties Mums might have gone to. She ran to the stool, then stared straight at the enchanted ceiling for the thirty seconds of deliberation. Then the hat announced, “SLYTHERIN!” and she bounded forward with a wide grin. She plopped down next to me, and before the applause had died down, she extended her hand to me. “Niamh,” she said, as though I might’ve missed it. She didn’t give me a second to respond before she said, “My dads are going to kill me, probably — thought for sure I’d be in Gryffindor. But the hat seemed sure about the Slytherin thing, and sometimes you just can’t argue with solid logic, you know—”

Another round of applause when “Frome, Ryan” — a girl — was put into Slytherin.

I turned back to Niamh. “Are your dads—”

“Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas,” she interrupted. “Yep.”

She kept prodding me with questions — classes, my siblings, my parents — so I didn’t really pay attention to the ceremony again until Lena announced, “Malfoy, Scorpius!” who was quickly announced Slytherin — no surprises there, from what I’d heard. He walked over, looking pleased with himself. He sat down next to Niamh, so she turned her questions on him.

A few minutes later, Harry Potter’s kid Albus sat down on the stool, and the silence was deafening during the few minutes it took. Finally, the hat yelled, “SLYTHERIN!” and the resulting shock was at least ten times worse than when I was put here. He didn’t look quite as happy about it as Niamh and Scorpius had.

That was the last bit of excitement for a while; the ceremony was getting long and a little tedious — Lorcan Scamander was put in Hufflepuff but his twin Lysander was added to Ravenclaw.

“Stevens, Connor!” Lena called, and Connor looked white as a ghost as he walked to the stool. It looked like the hat had barely even touched his hair when it called, “HUFFLEPUFF!” He looked like someone punched him squarely in the stomach as he made his way to their table.

Not much later, Molly Weasley was added to Hufflepuff and then her cousin Rose Weasley was declared a Ravenclaw. A short kid named Leonidas Williams was sorted into Slytherin. Twin girls, Adelaide and Evelyn Wood, were made Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, respectively, and then it was over.

I looked at the Hufflepuff table and saw Connor staring at me. I couldn’t tell if he wanted to be here at the Slytherin table or if he wanted me to be over there with him.

* * *

 

After spending the first half-hour of our first Potions class — we were with the Hufflepuffs — copying down notes from Professor Clearwater, we broke off into pairs to try to make our first potion. Niamh started to turn towards me, but before she could, Connor appeared in front of me, asking, “Do you have a—?”

“No,” I interrupted.

“Do you want to be mine?”

“Yeah,” I answered, grinning at exactly the same second he did.

He sat down next to me and started unpacking his supplies as I looked at the instructions. For a few minutes we worked, though I had to stop him every so often because he seemed to rush on into the next part of the instructions without being absolutely certain he was ready. When we finally had a break to let it stew, he turned towards me with a smile. “How do you like Slytherin?” he asked.

“Well, it’s only been three days, but I like it fine. How about you? Your dad okay with you being a Hufflepuff?”

His smile faltered a little. “He’s not too pleased. But there’s nothing he can do about it, I guess.”

“He’ll come around.”

“What about your family?”

“Callie’s a little freaked.” She had all but assured me that being in Slytherin didn’t necessarily mean that everyone was evil — which was something I _never_ would’ve assumed. I mostly tried to ignore it. Mariana, though, was the best. She’d told me how the Sorting Hat was torn between Gryffindor and Slytherin for her, but ultimately it had gone with Gryffindor. “But it’s fine.”

Connor nodded and reached forward to stir the potion. I grabbed his arm. “Five minutes _without_ stirring,” I reminded him.

He smiled sheepishly. “I guess I’m not too good at this already.”

“It’s the first class. Don’t worry — I’m sure in no time you’ll be great.”

“Maybe — if you’ll help?”

“Of course! We’re friends, right?”

He grinned, then opened his notes. “Can you explain some of this to me?” he moved a little closer so I could see, too. Our shoulders were nearly touching again, but this time I didn’t shy away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been wanting to write a Jonnor AU fic for a while, so here it is! 
> 
> I'd like to thank my best friend Hannah (emmadecody) for helping me plan this. I said, "I want to write a Jonnor fic where Jude makes out with Scorpius Malfoy to piss off Connor" and she made it happen. 
> 
> The rest of the story will take place during Jude and Connor's 5th year. 
> 
> Follow us or ask us anything on tumblr at jonnorathogwarts.tumblr.com


	2. The Plan

**The Plan**

_Jude_

 

I sat down next to him, sighing heavily. “The wit-sharpening potion is standard fourth-year material. It’s nice of Professor Clearwater to give us such an easy lesson as review, isn’t it, Stevens?” When he didn’t answer or even look at me — but his frown was growing more pronounced — I continued, “Counterclockwise. Four times. Now might be a good time to remove it from the flame — as the instructions clearly state, you know, in the textbook you’re supposed to be reading. That black smoke is a warning sign, unfortunately.”

“Come _on_ , Jude,” he sighed.

I stared hard at him, not giving him any slack. I learned the hard way that it was best not to get too close to Connor Stevens. “Remember that time you nearly set a _stone_ dungeon on fire? It was impressive. I, uh, merely bring that up because you _still_ haven’t taken your cauldron off the flame.”

“Fuck,” he said, finally following my instruction.

Professor Clearwater had asked if I could help out Connor Stevens since she had to go check the stores for something. Four years later, the Slytherins were still paired with the Hufflepuffs for Potions, and four years later Connor Stevens had proven himself to be nothing but a damn mess. It must’ve been hard to be Connor — Hufflepuff through and through, but still somehow in this war with me. I might have felt guilty, but it was his fault.

I leaned back on the bench, my shoulder nearly brushing against his. I’d done it on purpose, and I was rewarded with an open-mouthed, incredulous look from him. “I guess you’re consistent, if nothing else,” I commented, keeping my voice light. “If I didn’t spend the last ten minutes of every Potions class with you, I don’t know what I’d do.”

“Fuck off, Jude. I never asked for you to come over here.”

“Clearwater must think you need it. I certainly wouldn’t come over here on my own.”

“I know that.” He looked away, but I could tell his expression was pained.

“Whose fault is that?”

“Always such a little bitch, aren’t you?” he said, full of bravado as though I couldn’t hear the break in his voice.

“Always your comeback, isn’t it?” I snapped right back.

Niamh snickered, which brought me back to the very obvious reality that we were still in a filled classroom. The Hufflepuffs looked fighting mad, but most of the Slytherins looked like they were getting a very good show. Scorpius in particular was on the edge of his seat, eyes glinting the way they did during Slytherin Quidditch matches.

When I turned back, Connor was flushed completely red. Maybe he’d forgotten about the rest of them, too. “ _I never asked for your help,_ ” he half-shouted.

“Stevens! Adams Foster!” a different voice exclaimed. Professor Clearwater was standing there, potions ingredients in each hand, but she still looked furious. I groaned and Connor visibly deflated. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, looking fucking hotter than ever — like he had a right to do that, especially at a moment like this. “See me after class,” she said, giving us another frown.

 

* * *

 

“Mr Adams Foster, you’re a _prefect_ ,” Professor Clearwater sighed. I glanced quickly at Connor just in time to see him frown; my being a prefect instead of him was yet another sore subject between us. Though, to be honest, there weren’t many topics that we were on good terms with. “If I ask you to help another student, you should help — and I expect it to be in a manner befitting the position—”

“I don’t need Jude’s help, Professor,” Connor interrupted.

She turned towards him slowly, eyebrows raised. “Mr Stevens, the sooner you accept that you _do_ need help, the better off you’ll be.”

He frowned and sank back down in his seat. “Does it have to be from _him_?” he asked petulantly.

“I _am_ the top Potions student.”

“I don’t give a f—”

“ _Mr Stevens_!” Professor Clearwater exclaimed. “That is quite enough! I’m afraid I have no choice but to force you to take remedial Potions with Mr Adams Foster.”

Connor groaned in defeat while I lurched forward in anger.

“I have Quidditch!” he exclaimed at the exact moment I snapped, “We have O.W.L.s this year — I don’t have time—”

“Two days a week,” she said firmly. “No excuses.” With that, she got up and swept out of the room. Quick and efficient, as always.

Connor groaned again like he was inflicted with a horribly painful illness. Then he sat up and looked at me, eyes wide, a little innocent. There was no fight in him anymore, at least not right this second. “Jude—” he started, then broke off. He bit his lip.

I remembered the first two years of school. He would turn that look on me — those wide hazel eyes, his face like a puppy that had just been kicked — and my heart would hammer and I would help him. It was easy then. We’d been friends — close friends, maybe best friends. And then—

No. I didn’t like to think about that.

Maybe my heart was still hammering and maybe I couldn’t help but stare at the way his lips looked, getting bitten up like that. And maybe I could’ve bowed out gracefully or maybe I could’ve leaned forward, just to see what he might do. But no. We were long past that. He fucking burned this bridge and I wasn’t about to let him forget it.

“Be ready, Stevens. I’m not going to waste my time otherwise.”

 

* * *

 

 

I didn’t play much chess, partially because Niamh always won but mostly I just didn’t enjoy it. Niamh and Al played at least once a week; I didn’t really know why, since Al was miserably bad and Niamh always played ruthlessly. Sometimes she would try to prod him in the right direction, but after four years, I don’t think he’d improved much.

But even though I almost never played, I was pretty sure Al should be preparing for his next move rather than staring intently at Niamh’s face. Maybe he assumed it was a lost cause; there were far more of her black pieces still on the board than his white ones. “How do you do it?” he asked slowly. His green eyes flickered over her again, and he leaned back in his chair. He had messy dark hair and looked a bit more like his father than I suspected he would’ve liked.

“Do what?” Niamh asked slowly, circling the top of her queen’s head with her pinky absent-mindedly. Chess was one of the only times she was still and quiet. Most of the time she was bouncing off the walls. With her light brown skin and wavy black hair, she was a perfectly approachable type of pretty.

“Look at this chess board and predict the million possible eventualities.”

She looked up, with a grin. “Al, I don’t have to look that far ahead when I’m playing you.”

He laughed. “I guess I don’t make it too hard for you, huh?”

“You’re getting better.”

Scorpius, who was just walking over so he couldn’t possibly have heard more than the end of the conversation, snorted in disbelief. “Getting better? Has he ever even lasted more than ten minutes?” Then he threw himself down next to me on the sofa, bumping his shoulder against mine. It was completely unlike even my near-touches with Connor. It felt normal and comfortable with Scorpius.

“Another notch on your bedpost?” I asked him. It was a foregone conclusion by this point — whenever he disappeared in the evenings for a couple hours, that was where he was.

“No one new.”

“Evelyn?” The Gryffindor was one of his most frequent bed partners.

“Lorcan.”

“You visited Hufflepuff?” I asked, tensing up.

“Stevens wasn’t there.” He stretched out and laid his head in my lap. Out of habit, I ran my fingers through his white-blond hair. “In case you were wondering,” he added with a smirk.

“That fucking Connor Stevens,” Niamh said under her breath; she wasn’t one of Connor’s biggest fans.

“Pretty sure Lorcan is open to more conquests if you want to get over him,” Scorpius said in what he probably intended to be a helpful manner.

“I want to get over him, not just have sex with random guys. But — I mean — how the hell can I get over him when I _know_ he’s into me?”

“Just because he can’t move on doesn’t mean _you_ can’t move on.”

We didn’t say anything for a couple minutes, and then I thought I heard him say under his breath, “What about me?” But I couldn’t have heard it right. I was going to say something — to ask about it — but just then, Niamh triumphantly called out: “Checkmate!”

I looked over and Al was grinning at her; he always took losing in stride.

Scorpius rolled off the sofa in a way that probably could’ve been more graceful. “Bed,” he said succinctly as he yawned. Normally I would’ve followed him up to our dorm, but I couldn’t do anything but stare after him. _Had_ I heard him correctly?

  

* * *

 

 

“Oh, Jude,” a voice called. I was making my way to the Great Hall for breakfast, but I recognized that light, airy voice instantly. It was Hugo Weasley, Rose’s third-year brother.

“Oh, morning, Hugo,” I said, stopping politely. He was the weirdest one out of all the Potters and Weasleys running around. His approach was slow and casual — I had never seen him go faster than a light stroll. His clear blue eyes almost never blinked, and rarely strayed from looking right at whomever he was talking to. He was tall for his age and gangly, with long brown hair that looked like it hadn’t been cut for a while.

“You were born on the third of December, correct?” He always spoke very formally, which was especially disconcerting since he was only thirteen.

“Uh, yeah — last time I checked—” I said, inching away. It wasn’t surprising that he knew that information; he was a Gryffindor, just like all my siblings. Maybe I would’ve been curious, but my stomach was growling. About a dozen people had gone in behind me, and the din inside let me know that breakfast was well underway. And I was missing it.

Hugo took a step towards me as he pulled parchment out of his bag. He unfolded it, and I saw an astrological chart that must’ve been painstakingly created. I stopped and stared. Hugo had a reputation as a Seer — and a shockingly accurate one. “I’ve taken the liberty of analyzing your horoscope,” he said.

“Oh — er — have you?”

“Troubling signs, I’m afraid.” He leaned towards me again. “Normally one bears the burdens of one’s predictions alone, but I felt I had an obligation to relay the message. You have a troubling year ahead.”

“Do I?” I asked, feeling drawn in for some reason. For a minute, I couldn’t smell the tantalizing aroma of breakfast wafting out from the Great Hall. I had never put any stock in Divination, but the intensity of his gaze was drawing me in.

“Strife, a serious injury, crowds of people — friends or enemies, I couldn’t discern…” He trailed off ominously.

I leaned back. The doors opened again and the sounds of the crowd pulled me away from his soft voice. “I’ll keep my eye out.”

He folded his chart back up and nodded. “I will, too, Jude. The signs aren’t always accurate, but it’s best to be aware.”

“Tell me — do you do this kinda thing for your sister?”

I nodded towards Rose, perched in her seat at the Ravenclaw table. Nearly every morning I saw her like that, leaning nearly all the way over to the Slytherin table. One of her legs would latch around one of the bench legs, but it still looked precarious. People would have to wade past her bushy red hair taking up nearly the entire aisle. The space between the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables was narrowed even further by Scorpius leaning out, too, but he always looked more casual about it.

“My sister doesn’t believe in fate,” Hugo told me, without any hint of approval or disapproval. “She believes she can control her own destiny.”

“Can’t she?”

“Of course. But it might help if she weren’t so blind to it.” He straightened his back and threw a look of some kind of significance to the Ravenclaw table.

“Are you, er, really a Seer, Hugo?” I asked awkwardly.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he said, smiling for the first time in the conversation. “I merely interpret the signs that the universe provides.”

“Jude!” a much louder and rougher voice called. Niamh raced up the stairs and nearly barreled right into me. “The fuck are you doing standing here?” Then she looked at Hugo and her eyes widened, her grin faltering for a split-second. “Oh, hey, am I interrupting?”

“Would you care to have tea with me sometime, Niamh? I feel it could be beneficial for you—”

“Oh, no, I’m good,” she said. “Y’know — tea is just tea.”

He nodded gravely. “In the most basic sense, that is accurate… Well, if you could assist in looking out for Jude this year, it would be appreciated.”

“Always, young Weasley,” she answered, matching his tone. Then she grabbed my arm and pulled me inside before I could say another word to Hugo. “Are you dying?” she asked me, not sounding particularly concerned.

“Apparently this is gonna be the worst year of my life.”

“Yeah? That’s pretty badass.”

When I stepped into the Great Hall, I felt silly. Hugo’s words had seemed to carry weight when it was just the two of us — with his slow, enthralling voice and piercing eyes. But here, everything was normal. My siblings were there for me to wave at, the ceiling showed a cloudless sky, the food smelled delicious, and there were Rose and Scorpius, arguing like they did every morning.

“You really think you’ll get more O.W.L.s than me?” Rose was saying, laughing. Next to her, Lily Potter gave a snort. “Transfiguration’s your weak point, you know — could barely transfigure that hedgehog last week—”

“What about you?” Scorpius asked, not looking at all fazed by her insult. A small smile was playing across his pale face — I knew that look. He had a great hand to play but he was waiting for the perfect moment. “A Gryffindor told me you practically melted your cauldron in Potions yesterday—”

“Who?” she demanded, whipping around to look at the Gryffindor table on the opposite side of the Great Hall. Her long hair nearly hit Scorpius in the face.

“Guys,” I interrupted, sitting down, “at least wait until the sun has risen.” I yawned while Al mouthed _thank you_ from across the table.

Niamh was right behind me, and I saw her grab something that made Rose shriek, “Hey!” Rose nearly fell out of her seat in her attempt to grab whatever Niamh took, but Niamh commented lightly, “Just need to borrow it through breakfast” as though that settled the matter. A minute later, Niamh had skipped around the table to take her usual seat across from me and next to Al. She started flipping through Rose’s copy of _Witch Weekly_ as she skewered a sausage link and ate it absent-mindedly.

“Is it trashy magazine time?” Scorpius asked, so loudly I knew it was for Rose to hear. They always sat like that — back-to-back, no more than two meters away from each other.

“Thinking about cutting my hair tonight.” She grabbed a piece of toast of Al’s plate — not the first time I’ve seen her do it. Apparently putting butter and jam on bread was too much trouble for her. Not much bothered Al in general, and over the years he’d learned to put extra food on his plate under the assumption it would be stolen.

Al leaned over and silently pointed at a picture. Just a little shorter than she had now, but wildly curly. “Yeah?” she asked.

He looked at her for a second and then nodded. “It’d suit you.”

“Short,” Scorpius said. “You should just chop it all off.”

“Well—” Niamh started.

“Are you a moron, Scor?” Rose interrupted. “She’s got _gorgeous_ hair.”

I cleared my throat. “You know, I _am_ the only one here who’s managed to magically change my hair, so—”

“That blue gets brighter every time,” Scorpius said. “Is it even intentional?”

“Guys, I just said I was _thinking_ about cutting my hair — I didn’t fucking start a poll,” Niamh said, starting to leaf through the magazine again. Then she turned and said something quietly just to Al.

“You and Rose are in fine form this morning,” I said to Scorpius, softly enough that Rose wouldn’t be able to hear.

He rolled his eyes. “You’re one to talk. You and Stevens practically started a war yesterday, yeah?”

“What else is new?” I turned around and searched the Hufflepuff table until I spotted him, looking straight at me. If I were closer, would I be able to see a blush creep up his face? Or would he look away in disgust? I was starting to not be able to distinguish which would be worse. The former would drive me crazy and the latter would piss me off.

“Did you mean what you said last night?” Scorpius asked.

I looked back at him. His blue-grey eyes were meeting mine steadily. Scorpius was always open about his bisexuality, but the two of us had never stepped past the realm of friendship. “Yeah, I did,” I said. “What did _you_ mean?” That _what about me_ has been replaying in my head for the last twelve hours.

“You heard?”

“Yeah.”

“I was thinking about it. I mean — I swear, I can’t keep up with Rose anymore. And you and I — it might work — hell, you never fucking know, right? And I’d like to try, and even if it doesn’t work, you’d still get to piss off Stevens, right?”

I thought about it for a minute, and then said quietly, “I don’t know if I’m into you — like that.”

“But I’m gorgeous,” he said with an easy smile. And it was true. His white-blond hair was always perfectly groomed. His pale skin and icy eyes were a stark but still appealing contrast with our black robes. He was shorter than me — most people were — but he was still tall and thin. There wasn’t any part of him similar to Connor — golden, muscular Connor Stevens. And I was glad for how different they were.

“We can try it,” I agreed slowly. If there was a chance of it working, I found myself wanting to try. Connor felt like poison in my veins.

“Now?” He was already coming towards me, and I found myself nodding and leaning into him. There was no hesitation on his part. His hands went on either side of my neck and we kissed as though we had done it a million times before. It’d been a long time since I kissed anyone, and it felt good, even if it was a little weird thinking about kissing one of my best friends. I leaned into him, deepening the kiss.

I heard silver crash against pewter and Niamh’s unmistakable gasp. “What the fuck—?”

“Look,” came Lily’s dry voice; she must’ve been talking to Rose, “your boyfriend is making out with Stevens’s boyfriend.”

Rose groaned. “Another one, huh?”

I pulled away and we both laughed.

“Yeah?” Scorpius asked.

“Yeah,” I agreed.

I turned to Niamh and she looked horrified. My eyes slid to Al. He had an amused expression on his face, but his eyes were focused over my shoulder. I turned around to follow his line of sight.

Connor looked like he spilled something all over the front of his robes. Our eyes met, and his facial expression made it seem like I’d just hexed him.


	3. Natural Talent

**Natural Talent**

_Connor_

 

I hadn’t said a word to him in weeks.

He was lying on his stomach on a bench a few feet across from me. His Charms textbook was open in front of him. He was flipping the pages every now and then, and idly practicing wand movements with his right hand. Every once in a while a stream of water would spurt out of his want and splash onto the stone floor. He seemed unconcerned with either mastering the nonverbal spell or with the mess he was making.

“Don’t,” he would say every couple minutes, and I would freeze. “Look again,” he would say, and I would read the line of instructions in my textbook. He was always right, which was particularly annoying since he was clearly barely paying attention to me.

It was ridiculous to even call this tutoring. Supposedly he was the top Potions student of our year, but all he did was assign different potions and then ignore me all session. Even when I did well, he didn’t say much of anything. Professor Clearwater didn’t seem to mind much. She checked in about every ten minutes and nodded approvingly at Jude each time.

“Don’t,” he said again. If he even looked at me, I missed it, because he seemed just as absorbed in his Charms reading as ever.

I consulted my textbook and saw that the instructions said to let stew for ten minutes instead of five. I glanced at the clock and then leaned back, trying to calm down. Sure, I wasn’t naturally very good at Potions, but I was wound so tight during our lessons that I almost wished I could offer stress as an excuse for my poor performance. Maybe I would’ve, but ever since I saw him making out with Scorpius Malfoy, I hadn’t even been able to say a single word to him.

Jude didn’t seem to notice or care. He continued to act like this was his personal hell — unbearable but unavoidable and unending. He seemed so at ease here. I couldn’t help but stare at him — there was nothing else to do. He was tall and thin and his ankles were crossed lazily in the air, bouncing back and forth as carelessly as everything else he did. His hair _used_ to be dark brown, but he started dying it a year ago, and now it was somewhere between neon and royal blue. He ran his hand through it as though he could read my thoughts. I felt heat creeping up my face and I buried myself in my textbook again. I was almost to the end of the potion. Maybe Jude could stand this hell as though it were just an hour he had to waste in the library, but I suddenly felt like I might throw up.

I finished quickly, working through one of his _don’t_ warnings, which is probably why my potion turned out murky grey instead of the pure silver it was supposed to be. He tucked his Charms textbook under his arm and casually vanished the lake of water that had formed on his side of the room. He walked over to me slowly — there was something threatening about it — and I stiffened, trying to prepare myself for a fight.

“Passable,” he said after a perfunctory glance at it. He handed me a bottle and I filled it quickly, then he vanished the rest of the potion with a wave of his wand. I frowned. All that work for half a second of his time. I didn’t see how this was fucking worth the twenty lectures from Adelaide Wood — Hufflepuff Quidditch captain — that I’d had to suffer through when I told her that I’d either be missing two nights of practice or we would have to rearrange our practice schedule. She’d moved things around, but not without a lot of screaming. To be fair, she didn’t do much without screaming.

I looked over at him. He was setting the bottle on Clearwater’s desk, but then he started to smile to himself. My heart froze and I couldn’t help but snap, “What’s with that look? You have a date?” I was practically out of breath from that one sentence. I guess I’d gotten used to the silence.

The smile turned into a grin. My hands shook as I started to throw my stuff haphazardly into my cauldron. “Yeah,” he answered. I could hear that grin ringing through that one syllable.

“Scorpius Malfoy?” I blurted out. “ _Why_?”

“So you’re talking now?” he challenged, turning back around and marching over to me. I stood up, too. He was taller, but I was bigger.

“He’s in Hufflepuff all the time, you know. Like twice a week, so he can screw Lorcan Scamander. I hear it’s the same with loads of other people, too — guys _and_ girls.”

Jude rolled his eyes. “I don’t give a fuck if he’s bi. He’s only with _me_ now, anyway.”

“You two are — you’re—” I broke off, unable to even form the question. I mean, I’d _known_ that he and Scorpius must be having sex — that was all Scorpius Malfoy did, from what I’d heard. But to have him smirk at me like this, with a look on his face that clearly said: _no duh, we’re having awesome sex_. It set a chill up and down my spine, and that nauseated feeling just got worse.

I couldn’t stand it. I should’ve stuck with not saying a word to him. For the next three years, if necessary. I sat back down and finished putting all my things away. I went to get up to leave, but Jude was still right there, only about a foot in front of me. “Sorry,” he said softly, and for a second I wasn’t sure what he could be apologizing for, until he added, “I guess we can’t all be as straight as Connor Stevens.”

I snapped my mouth shut, then after a minute I quietly tried to protest, “That’s not—”

“I don’t care what you think of him. He’s not just my boyfriend, he’s my best friend, too.”

“Jude—”

But he just turned around and stormed off. I stared after him. Maybe I was slack-jawed; maybe I just stood there like a moron. I couldn’t remember even five minutes later. I would’ve felt better if he’d fought back against me; if he’d yelled at me, maybe I could’ve yelled back. Maybe then I could’ve felt like I was just protecting myself from his blows — just self-defense, just a fair duel. But this time, I was in the wrong.

I should’ve just kept my mouth shut.

 

* * *

 

Adelaide grabbed the back of my robes and pulled me back so hard I started choking. “Stay here, Stevens,” she snapped. I spun around, already ready to be yelled at.

It was quite a Quidditch practice. _All_ Quidditch practices lately had been varying shades of terrible, to be honest. I’d been a Beater since third year, which should mean that I was pretty good after two years. And I certainly was good — or _had been_ good — but lately I was lucky if I could fly straight.

Of course, at least I was better than our other Beater, who’d gotten hit in the head three practices ago and was under strict orders from his Muggle parents that he couldn’t so much as look at a broomstick. We all expected him to ignore them, but the near-death experience seemed to have made him develop a deep phobia of going outdoors, even. Adelaide had taken his resignation with only a ten-minute screaming match, so we were all expecting her to murder him or gravely hex him in the near future.

We were a good team, even a Beater short — though Adelaide was viciously trying to find a replacement. She was our Seeker, a position made more competitive than ever with the buzz constantly surrounding Al and James Potter. Rhys Patil-Murphy was our Keeper, who Adelaide became especially hard on before the Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff match — Adelaide’s twin Evelyn was Gryffindor’s Keeper. Whether their rivalry was made worse over the fact that they were legendary pro-Quidditch player Oliver Wood’s only daughters… well, none of us dared to bring that up and risk Adelaide’s hair-trigger temper. Ty and AJ Hensdale and Zacharias Smith — _the second_ as he had a tendency to remind anyone and everyone — were our Chasers.

Well, I say we were a good team, but Adelaide was staring up at me with her blue eyes narrowed into slits. Despite the fact that she was only about five feet tall and no more than one hundred pounds, I tried shrinking away from her. “You tell me you have to take remedial potions,” she says, in a voice of such forced calm that I knew there was a very real possibility my life would end in the next five minutes. “You tell me it’s a requirement. I agree. _Graciously_.” I didn’t think yelling at me for twenty minutes in the middle of the common room was exactly _gracious_ , but I was way too scared to argue semantics. “I move things around. I make it work. I make _my team_ work. I don’t want to lose my other Beater. I didn’t want to lose my _first_ Beater, but now he’s scared of his _fucking shadow_ , so—” she broke off, waving her hand dismissively.

She took a step closer to me — or maybe she was just making up for how far I’d unconsciously backed away. “Look, Stevens. All I want for you is to work as hard as you can — which you clearly aren’t doing right now. I don’t care what you do when you’re not in the pitch. But you leave that shit in the castle where it belongs. You sort that shit out and come to practice with your head screwed on straight, and I won’t have to take more _drastic measures_ to make sure you don’t _suck_ when we play Ravenclaw in a month and a half. _Get it_?”

I nodded, since that seemed the safest.                 

“Who the fuck is that? Ravenclaw spy, probably?” She had whipped around and was looking across the pitch at two people, who seemed to be deep in conversation. “It’s that fucking Tony and Kat, isn’t it?” she growled, still angry that the two Ravenclaw Chasers had scored so many points in our match last year that we’d scraped a win by only ten points when she caught the Snitch.

“I think it’s Wyatt Brown, and that Adams Foster he’s dating.” I didn’t know why I said that; I didn’t know why I wanted to pretend I couldn’t remember Callie’s name.

“Wyatt Brown,” she repeated slowly. “He played Chaser one match two years back, remember? He was good — but he wouldn’t join the team.”

“I remember. Natural talent.” I was just relieved the conversation had left me. And if Adelaide was planning what I thought she was, at least I wouldn’t be the lone Beater for long.

She nodded to herself and then stalked across the pitch. When she was a few meters away, I took the opportunity to race into the locker room, just glad I had survived.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, I went to the Owlery.

I had always wanted an owl. There was something regal about them — something aloof and untouchable and magical. I knew that when I went to Hogwarts, my dad would finally get me one. I read about them and thought about what breed I might like best. I ultimately decided just to wait and see — maybe I would feel a connection to one when I went to buy one. It was exciting, then. When I turned eleven, I knew soon I would get an owl and start Hogwarts.

But a couple months before, a cat showed up on our doorstep. She was small, a little black cat with a big white splotch that made her face look lopsided. She broke my heart and I wanted to bring her inside. My dad told me I couldn’t bring both a cat and an owl to Hogwarts.

I had always wanted the owl, but what about the cat?

“We’ll give it away,” my dad said. “We’ll take it to the pound,” he said. “It’ll be fine,” he said. “It’s just an animal.”

I chose the cat. I named her Delaney. Now I’ve had her for six years. She curls up on my lap when I do homework, sleeps by my feet at night, and purrs like a chainsaw whenever she sees me.

But some mornings I ended up here, anyway. I liked seeing the owls fly in and out. There was something calming about watching their routine, especially on days when I woke up feeling jumbled. Adelaide had given me another glare when I finally left the Quidditch pitch yesterday, and even my closest friend, Rhys, didn’t seem to have much to say.

I was more than willing to work hard and play my best and do everything in my power to help Hufflepuff win the Quidditch Cup. There was one problem, though. I just couldn’t play _well_ anymore.

I guess people watching me and yelling “don’t!” every now and then just wasn’t something that helped me much.

A snowy owl landed by my hand. I reached out and scratched her softly. She hooted gently and then flew off. I sighed raggedly and buried my face in my hands. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I was so torn up inside, I walked around every day feeling like I was bleeding. And I didn’t even fucking know why.

“Oh,” a voice said from the door.

I turned around. Mariana Adams Foster, as always, looked like she was in the middle of something — or about twenty different things. She had a Hogwarts travel mug in one hand — I don’t know how she managed to get one of those — and a pen hanging out from between her lips.

She wasn’t the _worst_ person who could’ve been there, but I would’ve preferred to be alone. She frowned a little. Every member of that family had iced me out ever since — well, ever since Jude had started to.

“Oh,” she said again. “Connor.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Wyatt is Lavender Brown’s son (as my lovely co-author Hannah says, “Lavender’s Jesus baby”). Thanks as always to Hannah for being an awesome co-author and making my life easier (even if she doesn't seem to understand that artificial insemination is a thing).
> 
> Sorry for the delay, but hopefully updates should be more regular from now on. Next chapter is Mariana!


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